


the difference between us

by gossamerghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Childhood Friends, Crushes, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Height Differences, Love Confessions, M/M, Oikawa's Sister (now canon!) makes an appearance, Short & Sweet, letter writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:47:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26984641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamerghost/pseuds/gossamerghost
Summary: Oikawa was a creature of intense habit that when things fell outside of his standard pattern of existence, it was easy to tell. He’d get fidgety, he’d get fussy, and it wouldn’t just throw Oikawa’s whole life off, it’d throw Iwaizumi’s life off too. Such was the gamble one took in making another person such an inextricable part of your life.Iwaizumi Hajime is only two inches shorter than Oikawa Tooru and somehow, in that space between them, something has begun to change.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 12
Kudos: 82





	1. the way we've been

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a sucker for height difference and the one between these two is so subtle and yet so under-appreciated. This is part drabble, part character study and the next chapter will be all fluff, I promise. 
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated and I thank you for taking the time to read my writing! I hope you enjoy it!

Just inside the entryway of the Oikawa home was an arch painted white that led to a quaint kitchen. On the right-hand side of the arch were a series of scratched-on green and blue lines made by the hands of kids that grew to teens that were now almost adults. Some lines were neat, others rushed and dashed across the plaster in a frenzy; a competitive race to measure growth, to determine who was taller than who, who had grown the extra inch, who would definitively be the tallest. 

A child’s wager carried on year after year.

The marks started about four feet off the ground and grew incrementally upward until they hit two separate heights, two inches apart. Two inches separated the neat, steady blue line on top from the shaky, uneven green one just below. Two final marks because the two boys who’d eagerly marked them in childhood were not likely to grow much more. 

If you weren’t looking for the marks, you wouldn’t see them. They were small and if you were just passing into the kitchen for a snack or walking past the archway on your way to the living room, they would be easy to overlook. If you knew they were there, you might cast a fond glance over your shoulder at them as you went by. 

Or if you were Oikawa Tooru’s mother, you might wonder why you hadn’t yet had the heart to paint over the scribbled-on marrings of your otherwise pristine home. 

Iwaizumi Hajime thought of these marks often. He thought of them on idle walks home as Oikawa regaled him with excruciatingly detailed recaps of the latest alien conspiracy theory documentary he’d watched the night before or as Oikawa’s head dipped and lolled as he struggled to stay awake on a bus ride back from a volleyball tournament. He thought of them as Oikawa talked strategy during pre-practice huddles or as they bumped shoulders headed out of the gym; Oikawa’s shoulder was always just a hair higher. 

This actually happened quite a bit, the bumping. At first Iwaizumi thought he had imagined it, thought he’d just always been hyper-aware of Oikawa’s proximity to him. He’d honed that sense like a psychic connection; Oikawa’s serve will hit here, he’d want milk bread after practice, his knee will land weird if he jumps this way, he’d sneak the DVD recording of last interhigh tournament’s games from the coach's office after practice, if he was in a pinch he’d send the set to _Iwa-chan_ \- they were each other’s constants. So something was definitely off when he’d started knocking against Iwaizumi nearly any time they were near each other.

Oikawa was a creature of intense habit that when things fell outside of his standard pattern of existence, it was easy to tell. He’d get fidgety, he’d get fussy, and it wouldn’t just throw Oikawa’s whole life off, it’d throw Iwaizumi’s life off too. Such was the gamble one took in making another person such an inextricable part of your life.

But anyway, the _bumping_. It was distracting. Not at first, again, at first he thought he imagined it. Then Iwaizumi thought Oikawa was doing it on purpose, trying to test the limits of how subtly passive-aggressive he could be towards his friend before Iwaizumi threatened to throw a volleyball in his face or shove him away. 

Oikawa had done things like that before, most recently he’d written dozens of love notes and hid them in Iwaizumi’s locker under the guise of a secret admirer and when the other third years had pressured him to figure out who the girl was leaving the letters, Oikawa revealed it to be himself and mercilessly teased Iwaizumi for the rest of the day. 

_Iwa-chan doesn’t have any girls coming to games to see him so I thought this would cheer you up! Iwa-chan! Iwa-chan! Well, did it? Did it cheer you up?_ Oikawa had crooned, lounging on Iwaizumi’s couch the same night his ruse had been revealed.

Oddly, the realization that it was _Oikawa_ sending him all the love notes _had_ cheered him up… but he wasn’t about to divulge that information. This confusing bundle of nerves and butterflies that knotted in his stomach were feelings that could be dealt with by ignoring and compartmentalizing them. Anyway, they didn’t mean _anything_ , Oikawa’s letters. They definitely didn’t mean anything. 

Iwaizumi couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment Oikawa had surpassed him height-wise. Whether by sheer force of will or drinking an unsavory amount of milk to strengthen his bones as a kid, Iwaizumi had managed to eliminate any significant gap in their height for a number of years. At some point though, Oikawa had leaned out and eked an extra two inches of height from the abyss of blessed bone growth. Or something. Was it possible he’d stretched himself an extra two inches? No, that was silly… he’d probably gotten some experimental surgery. Could a knee injury make someone taller? Iwaizumi scoffed to himself. Now _that_ was ridiculous. 

But the bumping… had that started before or after the letters? It was hard to tell. Admittedly, Iwaizumi hadn’t picked up on any correlation between the letters and Oikawa’s sudden desire to tap shoulders every minute or so that they walked beside each other. _Ugh_. Iwaizumi felt his ears grow hot as he thought more and more about it.

He was absolutely losing his mind. Oikawa wasn’t bumping shoulders with him on purpose, he wasn’t looking for Iwaizumi to bump back. Perhaps it was just that those two extra inches of height he’d been blessed with made it hard to gauge where his body existed in space.

 _No, he’s super aware of himself in space…_ Iwaizumi argued against his own internal logic. Oikawa had to be, it was what made him such an impeccable setter. A genius in the making but that kind of control took practice. Back to square one on the bumping predicament. Maybe Matsukawa or Hanamaki would have some helpful insights… _Probably not._

Iwaizumi was stretching on a ratty yoga mat on his bedroom floor, still thinking, when a knock landed on his door. He grunted, _come in,_ before folding his chest over his legs, fingers straining out to grab his feet.

“What’s the point in stretching if you’re always going to be so uptight in the end, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa asked, plopping down on the floor beside Iwaizumi. His gym bag dropped lazily to the floor behind him.

The sweet scent of mint and freshly peeled orange followed his every move. It was a familiar scent that took Iwaizumi back in time: Oikawa trying to eat the rind of orange slices like he was biting into the skin of apples during summers after volleyball camp. The way his mouth puckered as the sour taste of rind hit his mouth and he tried desperately not to spit it up. Now, he often smelled faintly of mandarin after working out. 

_It’s a refreshing treat, Iwa-chan._

Iwaizumi replied, _now that you actually know how to peel them?_

_So rude!_

“Did you come over just to be rude?” Iwaizumi asked in return. Oikawa chuckled quietly. “Why don’t you help me?”

Iwaizumi, still folded over, released his grip on his ankles — as far as he’d been able to reach — and offered his hands out. Oikawa’s long, lean fingers snaked around Iwaizumi’s warm wrists.

He hissed. “Shit… your hands are so cold.”

Oikawa tightened his grip, pressing his chilled fingers into hot skin as he tugged his friend forward into a deeper stretch. Iwaizumi groaned, sighing out slowly through his teeth.

“What were you thinking about before I showed up?” Oikawa gently pulled Iwaizumi a little further forward. “You only stretch at home when you’re really, really thinking.”

_Observant. Of course._

“And you don’t think very hard very often.” Oikawa added, for effect.

“When did you get so tall?” Iwaizumi wondered aloud.

Oikawa chuckled again. “Was that really it?” 

“Yeah, now I’ve been wondering how I can grow two more inches…” Iwaizumi rolled his wrists and Oikawa’s fingers slipped cooly from his skin. 

After he straightened up, the pair regarded one another. It was clear that Oikawa had come to Iwaizumi’s place after some additional practice. His hair was still slightly damp from a rushed shower and tousled in a way he’d never deem acceptable for school appearance.

This was an Oikawa that was rarely seen. Relaxed, a bit unkempt, unreasonably nosy about his best friend’s life. 

The other thing about Oikawa was that he _looked_ tall. Whether it was his lanky build or the sharp edges of his jawline, his well maintained posture or the lean tone of his muscles; he simply carried an air of regal height about him. Iwaizumi also knew it was Oikawa’s innate magnetic charm that drew eyes to him whenever he entered a space, as though he were surrounded by an angelic glow. There just weren’t that many people that could catch and keep attention and eyes on them like Oikawa Tooru could.

“It’s genetics.” Oikawa said as a stand-offish tone crept into his voice. “You know my parents are tall.”

“Yeah, but _when_ …” Iwaizumi said again, adjusting his legs to sit butterfly style. He quirked an eyebrow inquisitively up at Oikawa as he awaited his response. The thing about this conversation was that it would have to be a careful dance, Iwaizumi had to be _just_ nonchalant enough about his interest in his friend’s answers to not draw Oikawa’s suspicions that it was something he’d been dwelling on. Even though it absolutely was. And Oikawa would eventually get tired of being interrogated and turn it around on Iwaizumi in a flash.

Oikawa hummed. “This is really haunting you, huh?”

“Yes… because I can’t figure it out.”

“I’ve been taller than you since middle school.”

“Is that a fact?” 

Oikawa grinned. “Yes, that is a fact.”

Iwaizumi pushed himself up off the ground, stretching his arms up over his head, the soft hem of his shirt riding up to expose his stomach. “Stand up.”

Oikawa’s grin slipped to a curious smirk, raising his eyebrows in answer. Instead of immediately getting up, he leaned back on his hands, taking Iwaizumi in. 

“Iwa-chan isn’t that short.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “Nobody was saying I was short. I was just thinking about our height difference.”

When Iwaizumi said _our_ it triggered something for Oikawa, whose ears and cheeks immediately blossomed with a pink blush which startled Iwaizumi in turn. _What was that?_ And why did his palms suddenly feel sweaty and the room feel smaller, almost oppressive. Nervously, Iwaizumi rubbed his palms against his shorts.

“So, you just need two inches?” Oikawa followed up, trying to cover up whatever weird embarrassment he’d just experienced. “That would be quite a feat to achieve… although there’s a way you could do it.”

“Oh, yeah?” Iwaizumi said, briefly encouraged by this development.

Oikawa beamed. “Yeah, go to space!”

Iwaizumi’s brain short-circuited. Space. Oikawa kept grinning, pleased that his enormous amount of seemingly useless space knowledge had come to use in this specific moment.

“Astronauts get taller in space! So if we both went to space you’d be…” Oikawa trailed off in thought. “No, wait, well if we both went then I’d still be taller than you so I guess that wouldn’t solve anything…” 

“Oi,” Iwaizumi said. “Stand up.”

Oikawa’s eyes narrowed. “Are you going to punish me for bringing up space, Iwa-chan? It was actually a real answer, so that’d be extremely rude.”

“No,” Iwaizumi promised. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”

Oikawa nodded, seemingly satisfied that at least for the moment he wasn’t going to be the target of some Iwaizumi sneak attack. He pushed up from his palms and onto the balls of his feet like he was trying to find the most elongated and difficult way to stand up just to prove he was tall. Sure enough, once he’d balanced on his feet he pressed up from a squat and rolled, vertebrae by vertebrae, til he straightened to his full height just before Iwaizumi.

“Happy? What was the point you were trying to make?” Oikawa asked, hands on his hips in a wacky wonder woman-esque pose. As he waited for Iwaizumi’s response he shifted his weight from foot to foot, taking in the details of the room, of his friend's face, the last remnants of his strange blush nearly faded; nearly convinced Iwaizumi that the tinge of pink had never been there at all.

“Has something been bothering you?” Iwaizumi crossed his arms. _Don’t ask about the bumping._

Oikawa blinked, face expressionless. He stopped fidgeting momentarily before his hands dropped from his hips and he crossed his arms in a mirrored action. _So there was something bothering him._

Then he struck a ridiculous pose, tossing up peace signs with both hands. “Is Iwa-chan my mom?” 

“Quit striking that pose, it pisses me off. I asked you a real question.”

“Because you’re worried about me?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth to respond and then stopped. Why _did_ he care so much? He chewed on the inside . It was the damn — “You keep bumping into me… Like all the time, which you don’t normally do and I just, I wasn’t sure, if maybe something was going on.”

Oikawa’s face went blank. _Ah, so Iwaizumi had been wrong. The bumping was nothing. It was nothing._

“Oh, I wasn’t even kind of aware I was doing that.” Oikawa said, a nervous timbre seeping into his words. _He’s lying._

Iwaizumi stared at Oikawa. _What was wrong?_

“I’ve just been out of it lately. With practices and the spring tournament coming up… It’s nothing new.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t satisfied with this answer. “It is something new, it’s constant!”

“The bumping?”

“The bumping!” Iwaizumi nearly shouted, but refrained out of respect for his parents whom he was certain would appreciate him _not_ yelling at Oikawa for once. Oikawa’s lips quivered, he’d been caught and now he’d do whatever he had to in order to escape explaining himself. 

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I’ll try to be more aware of it.” 

And this is where the dance of conversation took an unexpected turn, Oikawa withdrew - not physically - but into himself. He looked distantly off, just past the slatted blinds of Iwaizumi’s bedroom window. There wasn’t anything to look at, just the complete oblivion of his thoughts clouding away any focus in Oikawa’s vision.

“Oikawa—” Iwaizumi started.

“Ah, Iwa-chan, I forgot something… at home. I need to go.” Oikawa snapped back to attention, lips splitting into a forced, unnatural smile. Iwaizumi wasn’t sure what to make of it, smiling back with his own thin-lipped reply - more of a sympathy reaction than anything. He’d pushed too far on something he wasn’t even sure was of real consequence. 

Oikawa turned on a heel, paused, then reached his index finger out to Iwaizumi’s cheek and tenderly swooped a stray eyelash from where it had been sitting, undisturbed, throughout the duration of their conversation. He took a half step closer.

“Make a wish before I go.” Oikawa said. 

Was there an edge of sweetness there? 

Iwaizumi stared at the lash on Oikawa’s proffered finger. A rush of heat shot up the back of his neck, warming his whole body. _What the hell._ Oikawa gazed down at him. _Down._ Their height difference is more intimately apparent here, in this strangely romantic space. In the unasked questions and unspoken answers. In the understanding of their friendship. In the power of their hours of built up teamwork, of games won, of games lost, in heartbreak and victory. In childhood bets and long-guarded secrets.

Oikawa didn’t move. He was devoutly superstitious about such things. Eyelashes were meant for wishes and wishes were meant to be made. 

Iwaizumi thought about what he wanted. Honestly? Answers. About the bumping, whatever Oikawa was silently agonizing over, what he could do to ease that burden, why he’d written all those love notes, why he stopped, why their height difference bothered him so much, how easy it would be for Oikawa to incline his head down and close the distance between them... 

_That’s too many things to ask an eyelash to give you_ . He scolded himself, then impulsively blew the lash into the void to be captured by whatever universal powers collected small wish tokens. _Make it come true._

Iwaizumi sighed. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, Oikawa. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Oikawa blinked, then shrugged half-heartedly. “I’m just surprised you don’t know.”

Then he scooped his bag up from the floor and all but dashed out of Iwaizumi’s room. 

_What the hell._

Iwaizumi spent the remainder of the evening staring up at his ceiling and replaying every expression Oikawa had made that night over in his mind. His phone buzzed repeatedly as he did so, but he didn’t check it until just before he fell asleep. At that point, he saw Oikawa had sent him some miscellaneous texts and a player of the week article from FIVB but none of that was out of the ordinary.

**Hajime** : that was a good article

 **Trashykawa** : right? I thought so too

 **Hajime** : are you ok?

 **Trashykawa** : there’s no reason I shouldn’t be

Then a few seconds later -

 **Trashykawa** : good night, iwa-chan :)

The next day, Oikawa was absent from classes which was mildly worrying to Hanamaki and Matsukawa, but _deeply_ worrying to Iwaizumi, who was half convinced Oikawa skipped because he didn’t want to explain himself. Not that he _would_ explain himself. 

Oikawa’s default state was facade, then flirt, then mope, then sincerity, then alien theories, then volleyball, and _then_ honesty. Iwaizumi chuckled to himself, not only was he clever, he was _right._

“Why’re you grinning if dad is gone?” Hanamaki asked, joining Iwaizumi in the school’s courtyard for lunch. Matsukawa was lagging behind him, a sly smirk ghosting over the curve of his mouth.

Iwaizumi’s shoulders stiffened. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Hanamaki shrugged, popping open his tupperware to dig into his meal. He chewed thoughtfully. “Well, if you’re like our mom, then Oikawa is like our dad.”

“Who said I’m your mom?” Iwaizumi frowned, shoving a mouthful of egg from his breakfast leftovers and hodge-podge lunch into his mouth. It was upsettingly cold. All it did was add to the emptiness overtaking Iwaizumi.

“You are,” Hanamaki answered. “You take care of us, the team, and Oikawa. We would all be hopelessly lost causes if not for you. It’s not an insult.”

“You’re right.” Iwaizumi agreed absently. The three ate on in relative silence for several minutes. Yahaba and Watari passed by, tossing up a wave which Hanamaki and Matsukawa returned but Iwaizumi missed, too lost in his own thoughts. The lack of greeting was not lost on any of the four. Matsukawa and Hanamaki met eyes, blinking slowly at one another in some unspoken language. Hanamaki inclined his head towards his partner, _your turn._

“Did something happen recently?” Matsukawa spoke up. “With you and Oikawa?”

Iwaizumi cocked his head, “What do you mean?”

“Something’s been off ever since the letter incident…” Matsukawa said cautiously, then was immediately met by Hanamaki’s knee jerking against his. _You should’ve asked in a better way._

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed, to the surprise of his companions. “He’s been bumping into me a lot. I don’t know what’s bothering him. I feel like usually I can figure him out and he said something about the spring interhigh tournaments, but I don’t think it’s that.”

Iwaizumi’s brows creased together, deep and craterous making him look dramatically more severe. 

Oikawa was a puzzle; having a wholly complete understanding of him revealed a beautifully complex tapestry of a man, dedicated and dramatic. Determined and doting. Woefully ill-equipped for failure, unrelentingly driven for victory. Every piece of his life from the moment he was born filled out the pieces of his puzzle. A corner piece here was the game where they first saw Jose Blanco play. A particularly squiggly piece there was the first time the tendons in Oikawa’s right knee seized up and led to the purchase of his now signature white brace. Another piece that fit perfectly in the center was his choice to go to Aoba Johsai. 

Oikawa’s puzzle had a million little pieces, thousands of which now also made up Iwaizumi’s own. It was almost as though you could not complete one of them without the other.

“He didn’t tell you what was bothering him?” Hanamaki prompted after the silence stretched on again for too long. Iwaizumi shook himself from his daze, a glossy sheen still overshadowing his eyes. He’d been in this fog until he could corner Oikawa.

“No,” Iwaizumi huffed, pushing up and shoving the remains of his lunch into his bag. “Cover for me at practice tonight, I’m gonna tell Coach Irihata that I’m sick.”

“He definitely won’t believe you…” Matsukawa said, unhelpfully, but Iwaizumi was already walking away.

Hanamaki shrugged, whispering to his companion even once Hajime was certainly out of earshot. “He will if he understands that it’s a mission to bring Oikawa back to working order.”

Iwaizumi played off an almost believable cough to Coach Irihata in the teacher’s office space before heading straight for the Oikawa household. Whatever was happening needed to be figured out. It was clearly throwing them both off of their typical routines. When one's circadian rhythm was off, the other would inevitably fall off as well. It was just how they worked. Yin and Yang. Two halves of one whole. Partners to the end, on the court and in life.

_Knock knock knock._ Iwaizumi’s knuckles landed on the door of Oikawa’s family home. A few moments later, Oikawa’s mother opened the door.

“Hajime!” She exclaimed, immediately pulling him into a warm hug. Like her son she smelled of orange zest and fresh baked bread as her well-kept mane of brunette hair momentarily enveloped her son’s closest friend. “How are you? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

Iwaizumi cleared his throat, nervously. “I was actually here looking for… Tooru… He wasn’t at school today which means he’d miss practice.”

Iwaizumi wasn’t sure how much more he needed to explain to Oikawa’s mother. As kids, she’d always seemed to have some sort of extra special sense attuned to her children, especially Tooru. 

When she pulled back her brows knit together, lips pursed in quiet thought. “He’s with Takeru at a volleyball camp… I’m surprised he didn’t tell you.”

Before he could really think about it, Iwaizumi said, “It seems like he’s been keeping a lot of things from me recently.”

Her expression softened into a gentle understanding, stepping back to welcome Iwaizumi into their home. “You can come in and wait for him, they should be back soon.”

Iwaizumi bowed his head down. “Thank you.”

She closed the door behind him before disappearing into the kitchen to resume whatever she had been working on. In the quiet of the home he could hear that she was speaking to Oikawa’s father who was working at their dinner table. 

Iwaizumi shuffled awkwardly before landing near the archway that led to the kitchen, still covered in the markings of Oikawa’s height (in blue) and Iwaizumi’s (in green). Tenderly, he reached a finger out to trace along the lines, recalling every time they’d marked - each year on their birthdays from the time they were eight onward. A decade’s worth of lines, of growth and change and friendship.

Iwaizumi found his gaze drawn to the last set of markings, made last year. They’d gone to a festival for Oikawa’s birthday and played fishing games (which they were bad at) and ate far too much milk bread (in honor of the Grand King, of course) and lit sparklers with Hanamaki and Matsukawa in an alleyway before the modest fireworks show that lit off at the end of the festivities.

Oikawa had been so brilliant that night, so carefree and light. He and Iwaizumi had playfully arm-wrestled so many times (because Oikawa was convinced that since it was his birthday he’d be able to overpower Iwaizumi - or rather that Iwaizumi would let him win - he didn’t, at least not then.)

When they’d come home, to the Oikawa household, drunk on summer sunsets and cicada song, Oikawa had pulled a pen from his school bag on the ground and gestured for Iwaizumi to stand against the wall. He complied, after all it was Oikawa’s birthday, and honestly, Iwaizumi couldn’t say no to him. 

Oikawa had been weirdly jittery as he stepped in, reaching his arms above Iwaizumi’s head, below his own, to draw the line of his height.

“Still short, Iwa-chan.” He said, quietly.

Iwaizumi had snorted. “Shut up, Shittykawa… Gimme it.” He snatched the pen from his hand and shoved Oikawa into place against the wall.

“So rough,” Oikawa said, voice half caught in his throat. Iwaizumi had almost faltered but he knew that Oikawa didn’t think anything of their proximity, knew that their shared breath that they each held was simply from being tired, from racing home up the steep hill, from anything other than Iwaizumi’s fingers accidentally grazing Oikawa’s right ear as they made their way to flatten his hair and make a height marker.

Iwaizumi found himself blushing at the memory and focused his gaze anew on the fraying laces of his dirty white sneakers which he became immediately self conscious about and kicked off.

As he did so, the entry door opened to Oikawa and Takeru bickering relentlessly with one another. Something about _king_ and _tobio is too cool_ and _you were mean to that kid with the bob that looked like him_ and _nuh uh, you punk_ and _I’m gonna tell your sister_ and finally, _she’s your mom, be more respectful!_

However, the trail of conversation cut abruptly off as Oikawa found Iwaizumi standing innocently in his house, waiting. For him. 

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa said, half smiling, half frowning. It was a mess of an expression. Takeru took one look at the two of them, read the off-putting energy they were both exuding, and bolted for the safety of upstairs, shooting past Iwaizumi on his way.

Iwaizumi raised his brows and Oikawa shrugged as if to say _kids, amiright?_

For a moment things felt normal. For a moment.

“Oikawa,” Iwaizumi said, strained. “Are you okay?”

Oikawa’s left eye twitched, then he too rushed towards Iwaizumi, snagging his hand and dragging him outside, away from his mother’s nosiness and his nephew’s antics.

“There is something bothering me…” Oikawa admitted. “But I don’t exactly want an audience when I tell you about it.”

“How unlike you,” Iwaizumi said, but the insult was half-hearted as his gaze stuck on the places where their fingers remained interlocked from Oikawa’s brash escape. How warm Oikawa’s hand was, from practice or from panic, or from the heat radiating from Iwaizumi’s palm in return. How neither of them was moving away from the touch. How oddly right it felt. 

The way this feeling was so different from the _bumping_ and yet it released the same exact knot of emotions right to Iwaizumi’s chest, like a hundred butterfly wings beating against his heart to escape. What was this? He looked up and caught Oikawa’s gaze, quirking up an eyebrow, a request for answers, not a demand.

“So,” Iwaizumi said, so softly it was as though no words were escaping him at all. “What did you want to tell me?”


	2. the way we'll be

Every morning Oikawa Tooru had to walk past the archway of his home and look at the lines that told the story of he and Iwaizumi growing up. The lines that ingrained him into the Oikawa family as an honorary member. The lines that his sister, Narumi, teased him mercilessly about - she had stopped growing at 6’2 making her taller than both of them. 

“Tooru, don’t you think it’s cute that you’re so close in height?” she’d crooned at him while visiting, perched on their kitchen counter while Takeru packed up his things after a volleyball practice with his uncle.

“Who?” he’d asked, pretending he didn’t know what she was asking.

“You and _Iwa-chan_.” And when Narumi said it, it made his heart skip a beat in his chest.

Tooru coughed, “Yeah, actually. I think it’s really cute,” and then fled from the kitchen to his room before Narumi could interrogate him more. 

And it had been those things that lurked in every corner of Oikawa’s thoughts. How Iwaizumi was just below him, perfectly kissable, perfectly holdable. Strong, capable, ridiculously _handsome_ Iwaizumi Hajime. His best friend. His ace. His everything. And it made Oikawa scream as silently as possible into his pillow on more occasions than one.

It wasn’t easy, to come to terms with falling in love with the person you spent nearly every waking hour with, but sometimes that was how the cookie crumbled. That certainly seemed to be the way that Oikawa’s cookie had crumbled. _How difficult._

And that’s why he’d started to bump into Iwaizumi.

***

“So, why the bumping?” Iwaizumi asked, propping a knee up on the bench they’d settled on to fidget with his shoe laces. After Oikawa abruptly pulled him outside, held his hand, and had managed a cool twelve hours of ghosting him, Iwaizumi had awkwardly pointed out his lack of shoes. Oikawa was immediately embarrassed, dashing back inside to scoop them from the entryway.

Now, in the chill of fall, they regarded one another - forced to face whatever distant and strain had been growing between them. Oikawa looked tired, shadows marring the skin beneath his eyes, only hinting at the number of sleepless nights he’d had leading up to this day.

“Why the bumping,” Oikawa hummed, drawn back somewhere inside himself as he concocted his answer. 

There were a lot of reasons.

The first, his knee. Sometimes, when Oikawa had overworked himself or landed weird after a serve or a block and a bolt of pain rattled up his leg, it’d make him walk unevenly until he could get home and alleviate his weight off it and wrap on an ice pack.

The second was that Iwaizumi was always around, had always been around. Constant and calming but always within Oikawa’s space. On the court, in the classroom, in their respective bedrooms and living rooms and houses. If they weren’t play fighting, they were throwing their legs across one another or high-fiving or practicing. It was simply a fact: they existed wholly within the same space as each other. It seemed it was the only way they _could_ exist.

The third was the tenderness that Iwaizumi exhibited towards others, helping them up from stretching, directing a lost first year back to class, helping Takeru and Narumi made pastries in the Oikawa family kitchen, rubbing Tooru’s back when he had drank too much at Hanamaki’s and couldn’t walk three steps without almost throwing up.

“Because when we walk next to each other, all I’m thinking about is how close together we are… It’s just a natural gravitation, I guess. I think about Iwa-chan, you walk next to me, I bump into you. I think about bumping into you which makes me wonder what it’d be like to hold your hand and pull you against me and…” 

He catches himself, still not looking at Iwaizumi, but he was being honest and that was what Iwaizumi wanted most. Oikawa smiled to himself, quiet and thoughtful, and then started again, ears burning hot and pink.

“I think about the differences between us. What we want, who we are, and how despite those differences we’ve stayed together, through so many things. Through wins and losses, injuries, pain, joy, relief. I feel it all constantly, play moments and memories over in my head a thousand times to process them, and you’re always there. In the forefront or the background of every highlight reel in my brain. That feels significant.”

He pauses to see if Iwaizumi is keeping up, which of course he is. 

“So I started writing those little notes. Thinking up ways to put down the things I was feeling, thinking, without having to tell you.”

“You could’ve told me, that’s what best friends are for.” Iwaizumi cuts in but is met by a glare from Oikawa, which both startles and shuts him up.

“It felt easier that way, I guess. I was protecting my own pride, worthless as it is. I didn’t want to dump my feelings on you when they were unformed… although I guess I still ended up doing that too.” Oikawa finds a piece of lint on his pants and picks at it, unraveling the little bit of fuzz until it fades into the wind. 

“Sorry,” he adds. “For the letters.”

The thing was that Iwaizumi had to process in real time that his childhood best friend was all but confessing to him. Was that something he wanted? It did explain the bumping. It explained a lot of things. It made Iwaizumi feel so incredibly sane and so shockingly alive, like he had been sleeping for so long and all it had taken was Oikawa’s voice to wake him up.

“I kept them,” Iwaizumi admits, softly. “You should know that I kept every one of them.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened. “You said you threw them out.”

“Yeah,” Iwaizumi agreed. “I lied.”

“You… lied?”

A brilliant red hue crawled its way across Iwaizumi’s cheeks as he thought about the letters now kept in a folder beneath his bed.

_It was really cute when you helped Tomoe-chan apply to be the soccer team’s manager yesterday._

_I’ll be there for every seijoh match, rooting for you - do your best!_

_You weren’t in class today! I took notes in english for you since you always seem to be struggling in that class :)_

_I’m excited to attend Iwaizumi-san’s class restaurant during the culture festival next week! Maybe I’ll even confess - would that make you happy?_

_Iwaizumi-san seems so strong but I think if we were to hold hands, perhaps you’d be gentle?_

But then with time they morphed into something more longing, wistful, lonely. Too specific to be some random admirer.

_Iwaizumi, you carry yourself with such poise and grace on campus, inspiring everyone lucky enough to meet you._

_Is there anyone you have your eye on?_

_I like you… a whole lot._

_What I would like most in the world is to be the only person you look at._

Worst of all (but secretly Iwaizumi’s favorite) was a note so striking that it had knocked the breath out of Hajime the first time he’d read it. And then he’d read it all through the day, stealing glances at it beneath his desk in class, tucking it into the pocket of his sweats before practice, carefully unfolding it to read it again and again in his bed that night, utterly haunted by how simple and pure it was.

_The way the sunlight dances on your skin makes me want to be icarus and fly too close to you, as you are the sun itself and therefore the center of my solar system._

That letter was the only one that Iwaizumi kept from Hanamaki and Matsukawa. It felt too personal, too special, too _Oikawa_. 

“Why?”

Iwaizumi snorted, mildly amused by the question. “Why’d I keep ‘em or why’d I lie?”

“Both, I guess.”

“I kept them because I liked them. I liked them a lot. I liked the way they were written and I liked the way they made me feel warm and looked after, even if I didn’t know who was sending them.”

Oikawa’s face burned scarlet and he rang his fingers anxiously together.

“But then they started to feel familiar; curious and observant, playful. They started to feel like you and so I thought of you when I read them and when you admitted it was you, I was shaken, sure, but I wasn’t surprised.”

“So, what’s that mean?”

“What do you want it to mean?”

Oikawa huffed out a sigh. “Why can’t you just be blunt like you usually are, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi laughed, feeling a bit breathless from the build-up of whatever declaration they were dancing around. “I kinda like that this makes you squirm.”

“It - what? It - ! It doesn’t make me squirm, I just… I don’t want to say something that’s going to ruin our friendship.”

Iwaizumi hummed, standing up, his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. “What dumb thing could you possibly say that could do that? Huh?”

And it’s almost a challenge. He steps closer into Oikawa’s orbit, lessening the space between them, straightening his shoulders so that he is as matched to his counterpart’s height as he can be and Oikawa giggles at the movement.

“Ugh,” Oikawa sighs. “I guess you’re really gonna make me say it first?” he asks, angling his head down. _Down._ Iwaizumi thinks and it makes his blood catch on fire, burning the desire to have and hold the man before him be his. The tip of Oikawa’s nose grazes alongside Iwaizumi’s own and their breath catches in the air between them.

“Well, I guess you have already given me dozens of little confessions,” Iwaizumi teases, closing his eyes and reaching out to tug Oikawa down the last little bit to close the distance. 

Oikawa hums as Iwaizumi kisses him, so chaste and delicate, like he is afraid of being too rough and ruining the dream. Oikawa is warm and soft and melts against Iwaizumi’s lips in a second, his hands come up to cup Iwaizumi’s cheeks, holding him in place. And the world is very quiet as they hang in the moment, caught by each other, as always.

Iwaizumi pulls slowly away, tucking a stray piece of Oikawa’s hair behind his ear, then allowing his fingers to linger, tracing the shell of his ear and then settling on the back of his neck, solid and confident.

“I like you, Tooru.” Iwaizumi said, firm and unafraid.

Oikawa beamed, “I like you, Hajime.”

***

Oikawa brings Iwaizumi back to his house for dinner, Narumi having arrived to pick up her son and, in the hopes Iwaizumi _would_ be at their family home already, had brought far too much takeout for just the Oikawa’s to enjoy.

Beneath the table Iwaizumi linked his pinky with Oikawa’s and Narumi caught the action as she brought dishes to their table and smiled secretly to herself. _Good for Tooru._

After dinner Oikawa and Iwaizumi washed the dishes and Narumi left with Takeru but not before enveloping Iwaizumi in a big, strong hug. She also smelled of oranges.

“Hey,” Oikawa said later, waggling a pen at Iwaizumi in the kitchen. “Wanna measure ourselves? For old times sake?”

Iwaizumi laughed and snatched the pen from Oikawa’s hand. “Sure, you first.”

Oikawa danced over to the arch, leaning himself up against the wall, hair mussed and tousled from a day of practice and exposure to wind. Everything about him was impossibly charming. Iwaizumi should’ve known he’d always been doomed to fall in love with this boy.

“Stand still,” Iwaizumi said quietly, pressing subtly up onto his tiptoes to accurately mark Oikawa’s height, tongue stuck out in concentration.

“Mm,” Oikawa hummed. “Or I could do this,” and he captured Iwaizumi’s lips with his own again, hands coming to knot in Iwaizumi’s shirt, pulling him in and when he was good and sure that Iwaizumi was breathless, Oikawa adjusted his posture and pushed off the wall, pressing Iwaizumi back and into the other side of the arch.

“Wow,” Iwaizumi said in between kisses, of which there were very few gaps in between, Oikawa eager and dedicated to smooching him as much as possible. “Worried I might be gaining on you?”

Oikawa pulled back and laughed, loud and clear and it was such a lovely sound that Iwaizumi couldn’t help but grin back.

“No,” Oikawa barked. “I’m not worried about that at all.”

*** 

Iwaizumi ends up spending the night after they fall asleep on Oikawa’s bed watching a godzilla film they’d both already seen a thousand times over. He’s surprised when he awakes and finds Oikawa curled against him, seemingly small and fragile in this quiet moment just for them.

“Hey,” Iwaizumi said, voice low both from the fact that it was early in the morning and that he was afraid if he spoke too loudly whatever dream he had been lucky enough to wake up in would end. Oikawa’s eyes fluttered open, framed by his soft brown lashes which made him look unbearably enchanting. He smiled a small, private smile that made Iwaizumi want to kiss him again. 

“Hi,” Oikawa answered, shifting to angle his body closer to Iwaizumi. The movement drew attention to their legs, tangled together under the single heavy comforter Oikawa always kept on his bed. 

As though uncertain this contact was wanted, Oikawa started to wriggle back but Iwaizumi moved faster, reaching his free arm around Oikawa’s waist, slipping beneath a baggy Aoba Johsai t-shirt to press his warm hand against the small of his back which was surprisingly cool. This sensation drew an appreciative noise from deep in Oikawa’s throat which made Iwaizumi’s ears burn.

“Just stay here,” Iwaizumi murmured, pressing his lips against Oikawa’s neck, peppering a few kisses there and up onto his chin until Oikawa caught his lips with his own. “Mm.”

Oikawa laughed, kissing him again and again, deep and lovingly. _Yeah_ , Iwaizumi thought to himself, _I’m definitely in love with him._

***

The thing about Oikawa Tooru and Iwaizumi Hajime is that the realization that they wanted to be together, always, and had told each other as much, didn’t really change that much about their dynamic. 

Sure, there were more quiet moments where their eyes lingered on the other around their friends, caught in each other’s orbits but no longer having to hide it, and times where their fingers grazed against each other between classes and linked together only to come apart again. But they were still wholly themselves. They still bickered and Iwaizumi still called Oikawa varying iterations of _Shittykawa_ and _Trashykawa_ but the timbre in his voice was entirely affectionate.

Oikawa smiled more, a lot more, once he knew Iwaizumi was his. In classes when he caught the other idly watching him take notes or when Iwaizumi would kiss him quickly before practice then turn away, as though flustered by his own boldness. Those were the days that Oikawa’s most brilliant smile would play across his lips throughout practice and Matsukawa and Hanamaki would tease him mercilessly.

“Get a room, Oikawa…” Hanamaki groaned on the court after Oikawa sent another toss to Iwaizumi, who perfectly slammed it into the ground. “Your preference for your boyfriend is showing.”

Oikawa chuckled, lowly. “We already have a room, thank you, Makki. It’s called my bedroom and you’re not invited.” 

He ducked under the net to retrieve the ball, leaving a shocked Hanamaki and a furiously pink Iwaizumi in his wake. When he returned he tossed a quick look around and blew Iwaizumi a kiss. 

“That’s so,” Hanamaki started.

“Wildly inappropriate.” Matsukawa finished. Oikawa shrugged and life went on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my little self indulgent fic :) I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Come holler at me on twitter - @gossamerghosts


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